Rest My Tired Eyes
by DarkTaoAngel
Summary: He didn’t want to die alone. Alfons-centric, slight AlfonsEdward, oneshot.


**Title**: Rest My Tired Eyes

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: He didn't want to die alone. Alfons-centric, slight AlfonsEdward, oneshot.

**Author's notes**: I had this idea for a while, death through Alfons' eyes during the experience, and it turned out quite a bit longer and more intricate than I'd imagined. Hopefully I got some of the characterization okay, and I promise the next fanfiction I post will be only after I've updated some of my unfinished ones.

xXx

Red, white, red, white…

The colors faded and melded before his eyes – his tired, tired eyes – and burned themselves into his vision until they were all he could see.

Red…

When he looked down he saw it – it must have been all over his shirt, and oh God, he thought, that would certainly leave a stain, but he knew that wasn't what he was worried about because it was on his hands too, and that scared him far more; it reached his eyes and stained them too, and he thought – wouldn't it be funny, if it was his eyes that were bleeding, even though he already knew, though painful the strain on them was, the blood was coming from his mouth, because he could _taste_ it.

White.

And his vision faded to a blurry opaque, and he could tell by how dizzy he was that white wasn't a good color to be seeing then, it was bad, and he tried to will it away, but then the red came back, metallic in his mouth, and he wished more than anything for the white to return.

One, two, three, four… and the clock struck one, one in the morning, and he found himself counting the seconds, if only to distract from the red he was sure was becoming more prominent than ever. His hands scrabbled at the floor – for he was sure he had fallen from the bed by that point – searching for something, anything, to cling to, to assure him in any subtle way that he still could, because he felt so numb, chilled and unfeeling, and he wanted someone to tell him that it was just because the room was cold, and not because he was.

Red…

He could feel thick blood rising in his throat, but he was on his back, and there was no place for it to go but the back of his mouth. It choked him, and he tried to cough it up, but he didn't seem to have the strength, so there it stayed, and it was suffocating. It tasted vaguely like metal, and as his hands clenched and unclenched on the floorboards, he thought it was ironic that, although he couldn't feel, he could still taste, more than ever, it seemed.

Five, six…

He wished Edward was there with him.

White.

He was dying, and he'd never told Edward that he was; perhaps he should have. If it was his own brother, Edward would have cared more than anything, would have been devastated. But Alfons wasn't Edward's brother.

Red and the blood was curdling in his mouth unpleasantly, and all he could think of was Edward, at a time like this. He mused that perhaps it was because of the metallic flavor dotting his lips, reminding him cruelly of the magic world of automail and alchemy that Edward had so often told him that he'd never believed even though he willed himself to just for the other boy's sake so many times. Now he was laying here, alone, suffocating, drowning, and he wished he'd believed him because maybe then Edward would be there with him and assure him that as with his case there really _was_ something beyond this life he had on earth because he just knew he was going to leave soon and he was so _scared_ of not knowing and he wanted Edward there with him because Edward had all the answers and maybe he'd have this one too. But Edward wasn't there and the fact remained that Alfons was dying and he knew it and Edward didn't and Edward wasn't coming back just then and he was going to die alone.

Seven… eight…

How many seconds had it been? Minutes? It felt like hours but that couldn't be right because Edward said he'd be back in a few hours and surely if it'd been that long he'd be there and Alfons would have nothing to worry about because Edward would make things right again. He always did and always would, he knew. But there was nothing right about dying, and he reasoned that, even if the boy were with him there would be nothing to be done about it because fact couldn't be changed and fact was that Alfons wasn't going to live.

White… white…

He was scared, terrified. He'd heard all about dying and what it was like and it was unpleasant, horrifying, slow. He would cling to life for those last few seconds and his body would just _stop_ but he mind would still be working and telling him to wake up but he'd fall asleep and he knew he would never again wake up so he told himself he just wouldn't fall asleep, but when you're dying, you really have no other choice.

If Edward were there, he'd tell him it wasn't so bad. He'd been through it before, and if he could manage it, so could Alfons. But Alfons wasn't Edward and he didn't have that strength or iron will and he didn't know if he would come out on the other side of the gate or just disappear, and the latter of the two frightened him until his numb hands shook and his body racked with sobs he couldn't let escape because he was too weak to cry, and he wasn't even sure if his eyes were open or closed because all he could see was a big mass of white.

Nine… Ten, and it'd only been ten seconds and when was Edward going to be home?

He didn't want to die alone.

Red.

He'd somehow managed to turn on his side and he could feel the sickly trickle of blood down the corner of his mouth and to the floor where it pooled, but it was still in his mouth because it was still choking him, and he was still coughing but nothing came out, and he still wished Edward was there but he wasn't. His eyes wouldn't open anymore and he was so tired, he thought it might be nice just to rest for a while, but what if he didn't wake up? He didn't want to die, just sleep. But if one wouldn't come without the other, he'd have to settle for neither, so he stayed awake.

Eleven and his arms stopped moving, stopped shaking, and he couldn't lift them because he tried but they just wouldn't go up. He spit out more blood and wanted to think _why me? _but he'd never pitied himself and nor should he start now. Edward had gone through so much more than Alfons ever had and never spoke of it if he could help it, so Alfons should be brave just this once, for Edward.

Red… red… red… white… red… white… white…

He could vaguely hear the dull creak of a door opening and thought, wouldn't it be funny if that was Edward finally coming home to see Alfons, laying on the floor or wherever he was, dead or soon to be, simply because he'd arrived just seconds too late. But no, it wasn't seconds, it was months, years too late, and it wouldn't be funny because Edward didn't deserve more heartache but one way or another he was going to get some and the least Alfons could do was stay awake long enough to say what he needed to say before he died.

Because he knew he was going to die soon, and he'd better say what he'd neglected while he still could.

Twelve… thirteen, fourteen… fifteen and he could hear footsteps and he wondered how he was going to tell Edward when he couldn't even speak for all the blood in his mouth. But then he knew Edward wouldn't care to hear his words anyway because he was going to die and it wouldn't do any good and he wasn't Edward's brother, so why should he care what happens? But the scuffling of plastic prosthetics told him Edward was near him and a gasp behind him told him Edward _knew_.

White, red, white, red, red…

He was being shaken awake, but he already was awake, and the floor was so warm, why couldn't he just stay here? But Edward wanted him up, and couldn't he see Alfons was trying? He just couldn't move his muscles and it felt so much better not to try because when he did he knew his body wasn't going to ever move again and he'd really rather not know.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen… Edward was saying something important but Alfons couldn't hear it because he was so sleepy, and just one quick nap wouldn't hurt would it?

And maybe he wanted to die just to get it over with because he was drowning and numb and tired and his body throbbed dully and he just wanted it all the _end_.

He tried mouthing something but all he got in return was the taste of blood on his lips and he hoped Edward had heard him because he couldn't say it again. But it was important and he was sure Edward already knew, but he wanted to say it anyway because maybe it would offer some assurance that Edward knew he wasn't Alphonse, he was Alfons, not Edward's brother. But Edward acted as if he was by the way he cared for him, and Alfons was done pretending that was simply because he loved him for who he was and not who he looked like.

Nineteen, twenty…

He couldn't feel anything and that was okay because Edward was there and he felt good and wasn't scared anymore. The shaking and screaming and lifting and nudging had stopped and he could almost feel teardrops on his face and he wondered who could be crying, or if that was really what it was. And then he stopped thinking and didn't have to wonder anymore because he forgot what he wanted to say anyway, and he hoped Edward had gotten the message when he'd remembered to say it.

And then he couldn't feel anything, or see anything, or think anything, but that was okay because Edward with there with him and he didn't hurt anymore and it was all right for him to let go now because there was nothing more he needed to do.

White, white, white… white…

"_I love you."_

White.

xXx


End file.
